


Over the Garden Wall: Six Phone Calls

by earthkidsareweird



Series: Over the Garden Wall but with Adult Reddie [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - Over the Garden Wall Fusion, Angst and Feels, Ben Hanscom is a Good Friend, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Endgame Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, M/M, Matchmaker Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon Deserves Nice Things, Minor Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier, Mutual Pining, Out of Character Pennywise (IT), Past Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Sad Bill Denbrough, Slow Burn, Stanley Uris Lives, The Jade of the Orient (IT), The Unknown (Over the Garden Wall)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24727294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthkidsareweird/pseuds/earthkidsareweird
Summary: It's back.Mike needs to call everybody back to Derry whether or not they remember their romp over the garden wall.It's Over the Garden Wall with Reddie but Part Two 'Cause They Grown-Ups Now!
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Over the Garden Wall but with Adult Reddie [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787890
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. I. Mike Hanlon

# I.

Mike Hanlon didn’t mean to rip a page in the scrapbook, but then again, accidents happen. Good thing nobody is around to see it happen. The one other person who worked at the library with him left for lunch leaving him to work on recent acquisitions, courtesy of the library being connected with the Derry Historical Society. Good thing he had yet to put it in the system. Instead, he pulls up his camera, takes a photo of it for the condition report pretending it always was like that.

Behind him, there’s some talking. Not alone anymore. Either way, he turns the page to find nothing on it. Blank. Strange. Somebody rings a little bell upfront, but Mike turns a page to find it blank, but this is the third or fourth time he’s flipped through, and it has been filled with work from an amateur scientist. Whoever is visiting the library keeps on ringing the little bell upfront. It’s little bring-bring-bring beckoning him.

“Just a moment!” Mike ends up yelling as he continues to turn and turn and turn until he comes across a single image left in the back. 

Derry’s lost its color. A single old photograph close to the canal. There are a few people who are walking around and even though it's from before his time there are two, two he is pretty sure he recognizes because while everybody wears suits it appears that one of them is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and the other stands super tall in a plain shirt. _I know them_ , he almost whispers but the bring-bring-bring cuts off his thoughts.

“Coming!” 

But first, Mike takes a photograph of it before he moves out from the back. Whoever is out there is losing it. Bring-bring-bring-bring-bring-bring-bring-bring. Emergency vehicle sirens start up almost draining it out. Bring-bring-bring. . .Mike walks out behind the main desk at the library to find himself all alone. The little silver bell sits out there by the computer and book return slot. The second his appearance graces the rest of the library, the bell stops and all he hears are sirens outside.

“Shoot. . .” Mike blurts glad his camera is with him as he makes his way out of the library.

Outside he watches as groups of people walk in long lines with orange reflector vests on. Each person has a flashlight in hand, it’s not too dark out yet. People all around are shouting, “ADRIAN? ADRIAN! ADRIAN!” The only response to their shouting is the name ADRIAN and it’s only ever returned with another ADRIAN like a strange echo. Mike takes a snapshot of the search teams sweeping across Derry trying to calculate how many kids are gone.

When somebody comes close enough, he yells to them, “What’s happening?”

“Some kid named Adrian went missing at the festival.”

“When?”

The person shrugs before moving past him shouting, “ADRIAN?!”

Mike pulls the library doors shut, locking it and flipping a sign in the door to say **Be back soon**. He takes off trying to focus on the fact that there’s another kid gone. Out of how many? A lot. More than the average American city. To make matters worse, there’s the single photograph in question of the two kids, he knows them, somewhere, he knows them and there’s something he needs to do about them. A memory he knows by heart that is still somehow just beyond reach. 

Coming closer to the canal, the festival is screeching with the enjoyment of kids on rides. There’s popcorn exploding around them with fried foods making Mike’s stomach rumble. Funnel cake sounds better than whatever is at hand. It sure would taste a hell of a lot better than a memory just out of reach on the top of his tongue.

A few flashlights glide from underneath in the canal from whoever is still searching. About three people are sloshing around and shouting, “ADRIAN!” Mike considers making his way down. He snaps another picture only noticing something on the walls. No matter how hard people try to rid Derry of graffiti it creeps back in jagged red letters: **Come home!** It’s there a few more times, caught in the flashlights underneath. **Come home!**

A soft ribbit snatches his attention. There haven’t been any frogs in these parts for over twenty years. Mike uses the flash on the camera to light up, spotting a frog resting right beside the canal. It waits on the pavement, looks up at him and some name clicks into place like he’s always known this frog. “Richie?” No wait, that’s not the frog's name though.

Not-Richie the Frog ribbits again and nods over at another part of the wall, the shadow of old graffiti chased off stays and Mike almost wants to slap his face for being so stupid. He knew. He really, really knew. The flashlights strike what could never really be erased, old other jagged red letters of **Pennywise lives** because it’s why he cuts articles from papers about missing children, mapped it out, kept readying himself just in case. Figures in all the bring-bring-brings earlier he’d see Richie Tozier and Bill Denborough walking across canal streets.

Mike looks at his hand and a scar running across his palm, long healed but sometimes pain pulses up his arm from it. Not-Richie the Frog ribbits again. He looks back down at the frog smiling and shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time.” Mike scoops the frog off the ground. “Let’s get you some dinner. I have some phone calls to make.”

Throughout Derry the night is filled with children shrieking and adults screaming ADRIAN. It’s getting to the point where Mike doesn’t hear it anymore. Police sirens included. Cars are being stopped as they leave the festival while flashlights come close to blinding him every step of the way.

“Wish we could share a pizza, bud, but I don’t think insects go with cheese.” 

Mike turns the sign to closed instead as he enters the library and goes straight to the back. He comes close to tripping over his feet because the scrapbook is gone. Above he spots a red balloon scraping across the ceiling, heading away from him and Not-Richie the Frog. Even though the scrapbook is gone, that photo is still there just it’s changed since the first time they met. Richie and Bill are gone, doesn’t matter though. 

The real Richie and Bill are about to come home. They all are going to come home.


	2. II. Richie Tozier & Beverly Marsh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie gets a phone call.

# II.

Maybe if it was any other year, he’d arrive with a better costume. Instead, Richie forgot about Halloween between different sets and decided to go with last year’s costume of a giant banana. The invitation said masks were required so he cut some holes in yellow fabric fashioning a domino mask under his typical Hollywood nerd glasses because seeing is nice, and the last time he tried contacts, he got some weird eye infection. At the bar, a bouncer stands outside checking all IDs. He stops looking at Richie’s ID and at him and back at his ID and back up at him.

“A problem?” Richie asks.

“Yeah, aren’t you that shitty comedian?” the bouncer asks.

“No, that’s my twin. Our mom was too lazy to give us different names.”

The bouncer hands the ID back to Richie. “Really?”

“Fuck no.” He tucks his ID back into his wallet and heads inside. 

Graffiti decorates the walls of the bar, a lot of people are standing around, most not quite at the bar unless they’re flagging the bartender down for a drink. He does a quick sweep pausing to look at some cubist painting of a naked woman right over the bar. Two clear bins with some sort of drink in them. One’s labeled Laura and the other Palmer.

Richie heads upstairs. A few couches hang out underneath all the graffiti and there’s a pool table. He hops down two steps almost knocking into people with his big banana costume. There’s a whole lot of people in costume, and all the ones not, look as if they’re having the same amount of fun so this is pretty stupid. Any time Richie turns the curve of the banana hits somebody.

“Sorry, moving hazard thanks to my big dick,” Richie mutters whenever somebody looks at him. 

The person working behind the bar is dressed as Daria and is handing out drinks in porcelain cat-shaped cups. Richie’s about to order a drink from the bar when somebody taps on his shoulder. Richie rolls his eyes turning around to find somebody standing there wearing a blue feathered mask that’s covering most of their face. He can make out some of their mouth and it looks as if they sprayed blue dye in their head.

Above _Pet Semetary_ by The Ramones plays coming close to drowning out the following words, “Hey! I’m Bev Marsh!” She reaches out shaking Richie’s hand even though he didn’t offer to shake her hand. “I think I know you from somewhere?!”

Richie peels back his crappy mask a bit. “Bev! It’s me! Richie!”

Bev gives his shoulder a playful punch. “I know, I was kidding.”

“Oh. Ooooh? You? You were making a. . .joke?” Richie fixes his mask. “Wow, couldn’t tell.”

Bev pulls her mask down, she moves it so it hangs over her back. “That’s because you wouldn’t know a joke if one punched you in the face. Now come on, I got a spot in the back.”

“But I’m thirsty!” 

Already Bev is pushing him away even though he keeps staring at the bar. There’s a back room full of old bumper cars serving as places for people to sit in. She points at one all the way in the back where some random guy is sitting, dressed as Wayne from _Wayne’s World_.

“Who the fuck is that, Ringwald?” asks Richie. He also grabs a spring of hair. “And don’t think I’m not going to ask about this?”

“Shut up, _Richard_!” Bev stops and points at Richie. “Wayne, meet Richie and Richie meet Wayne.”

“Ok, so my name isn’t actually Wayne,” the guy comments.

“I forgot it on my way over there.” Bev shrugs.

“Wait? The fuck? Bev! You don’t even know this guy?” He attempts to whirl around to face her but his costume catches on the bumper car right there. “I’m getting a drink. What do you want?”

But Bev won’t let go of him. “For you to talk to Wayne while I go get drinks.” She doesn’t ask him for what and takes off, squeezing between the other people at the bar. 

Richie looks at the guy dressed as Wayne, he’s sitting in the bumper car. “Hi, I’m Richard, but people usually call me Dick.”

“Are you serious?” the guy asks.

“Yeah, it’s because I’m a jerk.”

The guy sits there staring at Richie, he takes a swig from the beer bottle he’s holding even though it looks just about as empty as possible. “I’m Connor and people just call me Connor because I’m not a jerk.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Bev slides right back into the conversation handing Richie a whisky shot and a PBR. She cheers him before the two take a shot. Richie’s about to say something on how the guy’s name is Connor and not _Wayne_ when his phone starts ringing, tucked away into his back pocket. Not some text message either, an actual phone call. Weird. His sister could need some help though. Richie pops open the PBR, drinks, and hands to Bev after she sets the shot glasses down. He holds his finger up before struggling to get the phone out not recognizing the number but it looks like it’s not from LA, to say the least.

Richie answers it. “Hello, thank you for calling Good Times Are A-Comin' the erotic hotline that is here for you every day but Sunday because that is the Lord’s day..”

“Richie?” the person on the other end says. “Richie Tozier?”

Strange. “Yeah, why?”

“It’s Mike.”

Music is too loud and the place is too crowded. Bev mouths something to him but Richie just shrugs as he takes off and ends up in one of the bathrooms. Somebody is pissing in the urinal, the floor is already slick with beer and other fluids. But enough of the music is blocked out to help with putting an end to whatever this is.

“Ok, but Mike who?”

“Mike Hanlon from Derry.”

Richie’s speechless. The guy at the urinal pushes past him to leave the bathroom and Richie is trying to make sure he doesn’t drop his cell phone, he doesn’t drop it because it’ll land in whatever is on the floor, which is probably more piss than beer.

“Wait, hold up. How the fuck did you get this number?” Richie retorts. He holds a hand over his one ear to block out some of the music. The door swings open and a girl stumbles in. She struggles to get past his banana costume as he stands dead center in the bathroom. But she manages to get into the one stall. “Delete this number, man.”

“Richie, you know I can’t do that.”

“No! I don’t know. . .I don’t know why!” Pain ignites along the palm of his hand, that’s not even the worst of it because something is itchy at his throat like he ate something all wrong and scratchy. He moves towards the sink and shovels water into his mouth to help out. “I gotta go, Mike, it’s not like we’ve talked, we haven’t talked for like. . .”

“Twenty-seven years,” Mike finishes for Richie who doesn’t want to move as the girl comes up behind him from the stall. He tries to shovel more water into his mouth and swallow and spit it out. “I know, but we all made a promise that if It. . .”

Those words are lost to Richie, he can’t hold it down any longer. Whatever is crawling up his throat, scrapes its way into his mouth. Once he starts vomiting, he can’t stop. A lot of vomit. He chokes on it, some shoots through his nostrils as he hacks away, there’s even a bit of blood in it but that’s not the most worrisome part. It’s more the leaves and the bark. He almost slips but manages to hold tight to the sink while keeping his phone in hand. A minor but good save.

“It came back, Richie, you have to. . .”

The girl makes her way out of the bathroom wrinkling her nose at him saying something to whoever else is waiting out there. Richie needs to get the fuck out of there. He turns the water on and drops a bunch of paper towels into the sink and says. “Fine, Mike, you win.” And hangs up before anything else is said.

It’s not even like he’s some vegetarian to be puking leaves. Not to mention, he didn’t puke up any lettuce. Regular leaves found falling from autumn trees are embedded in his barf. Richie stares at the paper towels that soak up the vomit and now he’s gotta do what? Go back to Derry? Northern Ireland? No. Maine. And he has to tell Bev. Richie lets go of the sink still hanging onto his phone, it’s hard to move forward. Because something is almost holding him back, he can hear it on the tune that’s playing above, almost erased by all the conversations.

_Walking back to you is the hardest thing that I can do, that I can do for you._

Richie pauses just outside the door, somebody complains but he’s so grounded to a past moment of riding a bicycle alongside somebody else but can’t make out their face. It’s like black squiggly lines are in place even as the person looks over to him saying something now lost to time.

Across the room, Richie sees Bev who is sitting alone in the bumper car, a PBR can spins on the floor by her, beer spilling out as she sits on the phone with utter shock on her face. A young Bev becomes so clear, smoking underneath football bleachers at some homecoming game. Her laugh. It's them in a sea of people like earlier, somebody joins them but his face is barred behind black squiggles. Bev rises to her feet still staring at Richie making it obvious that she realizes what Richie realizes, probably the same thing she realizes, too. 

They’ve always been friends.


	3. III. Bill Denbrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill gets a phone call as a memory about some kid name Richie Tozier comes back to him.

# III.

_Bill watched water stream past the house on the street. Even without it still raining out, the streets stayed flooded. His mom played Fur Elise on the piano about to drive him nuts, it appeared to be caught in a loop. Fur Elise start. Fur Elise finish. Fur Elise starting all over again. It made him reconsider investing in some sort of cassette player to listen to songs. ______ always rambled on about music making it seem more interesting then any song his mom plated. A faceless kid came to mind, and even though they had no face, they wore big black glasses. He didn’t even have eyes that needed help seeing._

_In an attempt to drone out the Beethoven by humming some tune from the faceless kid’s All Dead Rock Show._

But you’re not really here, it's just the radio. Don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby. You said you’d be coming back this way again, baby.

_Bill tried his best to write out some words for a short story contest his teacher told him about except he didn’t have much of a sentence down. His music clashed with his mom’s song only to end up with what his speech therapist always made him say out loud:_

_He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts._

Loneliness is such a sad affair and I can hardly wait to be with you again. What to say to make you come again, come back to me again and play your sad guitar.

_He hits his fists against the posts and still insists he sees a ghost._

_Bill paused deciding whether or not his teacher could count it as plagiarism. He could almost see himself outside somewhere back when it was raining a lot, punching a post out by the kissing bridge while looking over to see the face of a long lost love, a long lost love who looked like? Only the faceless boy popped back to mind and even without a mouth, he never shut up singing a song pretending to serenade, which wasn’t what Bill needed for a scene._

Don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby. You said you’d be coming back this way again. . .

_A car door snapped shut, sounded more like an explosion out there and Bill looked up to spot some cop car pulled up. Its emergency lights weren’t on yet a cop climbed out looking real nervous. Downstairs his mom stopped playing Fur Elise. Mid-cycle, too. Thank God. Bill sat there trying to think up a story of somebody, maybe somebody who lost somebody they loved whether it be lover, friend, brother and-and-and what would it be like to open the door up to let that news inside. He’d run off with such anger and start punching the posts only to look up to realize he could really see the ghosts._

_Outside his father spoke and spoke and spoke to the cop before looking up at his window, probably spotting him. Bill pressed his face closer to the glass not realizing his father sported such sharp canine teeth. Even with him being so far away he could hear his father start to yell at him: You lied! You lied and he died!_

“That’s not how it happened!”

Bill doesn’t realize he is even speaking out loud until he sees Audra sitting beside him looking at him. She’s looking real sad as she watches him. She reaches over to turn on the nightstand lamp.

“That’s not how what happened?” she asks.

Bill stares at her. “I don’t know. Just a weird dream about. . .” Georgie. Bill sits up and looks over to see his phone was lit up with missed calls. It wasn’t even six in the morning.

“It’s been going off but I couldn’t wake you,” Audra comments without asking further questions. She knows him. Those questions won’t get answers. But she does climb out of bed. “I’ll make tea, we have to be up anyway in thirty minutes.”

When she leaves the room, it’s like her absence wills the phone to start ringing again. An unfamiliar number floods the screen as _Superstar_ by The Carpenters plays, singing to him over and over again _You said you’d be coming back this way again, baby, baby, baby_ , but Bill gets it to stop by answering the phone.

“Bill Denbrough speaking.”

There’s a long pause as if whoever has been trying to call realizes this is the wrong number, but nobody casually calls the wrong number three times in a row. Whoever it is ends up saying, “Bill, it’s Mike.”

“Mike who?” Bill climbs out of bed grabbing a sweatshirt to pull on, it’s getting a little chilly. He looks outside, not much is going on out there. “Who is this? How did you get this number?”

“It’s Mike Hanlon. . .from Derry.”

Bill loses the phone. It hits the ground and he’s so glad it doesn’t crack open. He swears he can still hear Mike on the other end of the line but he’s stuck there thinking about Georgie. Georgie Denbrough. His little brother. His little brother who went missing, gone but not forgotten but he _forgot_. He forgot Georgie and out of all the people in the world, he knew all along what actually happen to Georgie.

“I know it’s been a long time and you’re probably only starting to realize that now.”

Audra pops her head back in the room mouthing, _Who is it?_

But Bill signals her to leave.

Audra stays a second longer, “Ah so a hot toddy then?”

“But we all made a promise, you made us promise to return if It came back.”

What does somebody say to that? Any of that? Georgie Denborough is gone, been gone and forgotten for twenty-seven years. He lived in so many empty homes because of Georgie with parents so lifeless and words on pages unable to let thoughts sink in of the woods that ate children because of a monster who lived there.

“Mike. . .I’m sorry but I. . .”

“Don’t say you can’t, Bill, don’t you dare. I’ve already spoken with Richie and Bev.”

_Richie and Bev_. _Richie_ The faceless kid with glasses from his dream pops up all over again, still faceless with glasses though.

He thought of a mixtape he found in his pocket, surprised anybody would leave it there. It only said **For You** with songs listed along the back. Richie sort of music. He didn’t really know Richie felt that way. He almost felt so bad for the way he gazed at Bev and her red curls except something occurred to him between exchanges out there in the woods and none of it was ever meant for him. Not Richie. Not Bev. Soon after he moved, he had no friends. Richie thought he’d be the first to go, turned out he stayed a lot longer or so Bill thought he could remember. There’d been an email or two when the guy figured out how to use a computer. An email about a talent show performance and Eddie moved next soon after that.

“They’re coming?” Bill ends up asking.

Audra pokes her head into the room holding up a tea kettle. “Hot toddy or no?”

Bill holds up a finger listening to Mike answer. “They are. I’m calling Stan and Eddie next.” 

“Mike. . .I can’t.”

“Bill, you have to. _We_ need you.”

Audra stays in the doorway. “Bill? Who is it?”

“Ok, I’ll get a ticket. I’m sure I’ll be there by tomorrow or the following day.

This of course gets Audra speaking a little louder. “What? Go where? We start filming again tomorrow! You said you’d fight them to make sure I get directing credit this time around!”

“Alright, talk to you again soon, Bill.”

But Bill’s too close to tears, he’s not sure over what. He hangs up without saying bye or asking multiple questions to figure out where to go next once he steps foot again in the United States. Audra never leaves the doorway too busy staring at Bill, her eyes all wide with horror.

Bill stares at her and all that fear permeates around him and her, it’s existing there like morning mist so he gets to the point. “Do you trust me, Audra?”

“Yes.”

“Just-I just I-I-I-I n-n-need you to-to l-let me do this.”

“What’s wrong, Bill? Why are you talking like that?”

“A-A-Audra, j-just trust me, please. I have to go home, there-there-there’s been an emergency.”

“Been an-Been an emergency? What are you even talking about?”

Bill walks up to her, cupping her face. “I have to go, I-I-I need you to just come up with-with any excuse f-f-f-for me.”

“What? But! Who’s hurt? Oh my God! Is it Gabbie?”

“N-Nobody you know. It’s-It’s a childhood pact, with f-f-friends from D-Derry.”

Audra comes close to dropping the tea kettle, unable to wrap her mind around whatever is happening because this is a whole lot of nonsense, a lot of nonsense that all started with Bill shouting from a dream: _That’s not how it happened!_ “Can you please just tell me what’s going on?! What kind of emergency makes you go on some transatlantic flight? Bill! You can talk to me! You know that, right!”

Rather than offer her an answer, Bill kisses her forehead and lets go. “Audra, please j-just t-trust me here, ok?”

Audra nods. “Ok, ok. I’ll tell Francis that you have something like explosive diarrhea. Do people still get Cholera? Could I say that?”

“Sure, that w-works! Thank you! A-A-A-Audra. . .” Bill’s backing up thinking of packing, what he’ll need. There’s no telling if he’ll ever come back. Those words would hurt Audra too much. Scare her more into not helping him out. They lock eyes, she’s doing her best not to cry or panic over all this weirdness. Bill manages to choke out an “I love you.”

Audra nods as she backs away. “You really mean that?”

Bill doesn’t respond.

_Bill clung to an old map of Derry, he made sure he kept a tight grip on it because the hallways are already packed. His class was closer to Richie’s class so that means he’d talk to Richie and Stan later when the two have lunch. Up ahead, Richie was leaving a class while running his motormouth to somebody who may or may not be listening to him._

_“R-R-R-Richie!”_.

_“Yo Big Bill!” Richie stopped for him to catch up. “The fuck you stopping me for?”_

_The two of them fall in step with each other. Bill held up the map for him to see. “I’ve b-been marking off all the places s-s-s-search p-p-parties have l-looked and. . .”_

_Except Richie pushed the map down and out of his face. “Bill, I’m going to be very, very serious with you here.”_

_Bill stopped. Somebody bumped into him and snapped, “Watch it turd!”_

_“Shit’s that’s not even creative!” Richie yelled after them. “Get back here and try again!”_

_“Wh-Wh-What w-were y-you going to say?”_

_Richie looked back at Bill. “Oh right.” He jabbed a finger into the map again. “I can’t read this, only virgins read maps.” And he walked off cracking up at his joke leaving Bill there for a few seconds because there really is no come back to that. His dad could read maps and obviously, his dad wasn’t. . . “What period do you have lunch again?”_

_And Bill caught up. They fell in step. Bill watched as a rhythm came in between them, wound around them. It sometimes even happened whenever they played Street Fighter with each other. Richie spotted the weird looked he was getting._

_Richie squeezed his cheek. “What’s going on with this, Billy Boy?”_

_“Sh-Sh-Sh-Shut up, R-R-R-R-Richie, it’s important.”_

_“You know I can’t! It’s for the best for you, my love._

_A little louder. “Sh-Sh-Shut up, R-R-R-Richie.”_

_“Hate to break it to you but my voice is a gift, Billy Boy, and you know it.” Richie stopped outside his next class. “Ok, but what the fuck is so important?_

_“Nobody searched the Barrens, we have to go to the Barrens.”_

_Richie stood and stared at Bill. He pushed his glasses into place as if they were falling from his place. “Bill. . .they’ve-they’ve searched the Barrens for Georgie.”_

_Once again, Bill held the map up. People shoving around them. He spotted Eddie walking past them pretending not to look in their direction. That was a kid he used to talk to but not so much anymore. The distraction didn’t last long. Bill stood there with the map pointing to a circle he made. “Y-Y-Y-You’re a-almost right. Th-They d-did, but n-not the by the g-g-graveyard.”_


	4. IV. Stan Uris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike calls Stan.

# IV.

Stan stands in one long hallway that appears to lack a lot of flavor. It’s a graveyard of sorts, not that anybody could tell at first glance. Most graveyards didn’t smell of faint alcohol. On both sides off-white cabinets are set up one after another after another. They’re split in two with a single steel handle on each and a little paper marking numbers along each one. He reaches 221000s and then 222000s followed by where he wants to stand. The 223000s. Right as Stan reaches for a drawer some footsteps each out over the steady hum of the lackluster hall. 

Footsteps come closer. He isn’t sure he wants to look up because too many strange dreams haunt him whether he’s awake or not. The scent of alcohol slices through his panic. He shuts his eyes for a second as the footsteps come closer. Somewhere in the back of his memory, a smeared face hisses at him of a twisted woman.

“Stan?”

Stan looks over to see Patty there. 

“You forgot your phone.” She holds it out to him. “You missed a call, I hope you don’t mind I tried to answer but they said they’d call back.”

“Who?”

“Um, somebody named Mike I think.”

Stan takes the phone from her. “Like Mike from finance?”

“Why would he call your cell?”

“I don’t know.” Stan stares at the phone realizing he missed a call probably before she answered. Some 207 area code, which is weird because he can’t recall the last time anybody called him from Maine. He’d lived there as a kid, but not for too long. “Thanks.”

Patty chuckles tucking her hands in her pocket. “Are you coming out tonight?”

Stan smiles and nods. “But. . .I might be late.”

Already Patty backs up. “I’ll save you a seat.” But Stan says nothing, he just smiles at Patty, and she pauses. It doesn’t look like she moved much because every moment in the hall looks exactly the same. “Look at that, Stanley Uris and the saddest smile in the world.” With this comment, she’s gone like she was some sort of ghost all along.

Stan tucks his phone into his pocket opening the cabinet door revealing wooden shelves, one after another. Each labeled breaking down the 223000s. He pulls one open, it slides forward with bird bodies lying in rows. Little tags hang on their feet, marking each one with a number but he ignores them all for 223979, a passenger pigeon at the museum called Martha. Her eyes are a milky white, she’s been dead for some time. There’s a subtle blue tinge to her gray and black feathers.

“Nice to see you again, Martha, too bad it isn’t a sunny day.” Stan smiles at Martha. While there’s plenty of bird specimens throughout the room, he much preferred the Extinct North American Bird Collection. Another passenger pigeon rests beside Martha. Their eyes replaced with glass eyes like she’s staring straight into Stan’s heart. “And you, too, Other Martha.”

Right as Stan pulls his phone out to take a quick picture of the Marthas, his phone goes off. It plays an old song he remembers listening to and one Patty set it to after they both saw _Casablanca_ together at a museum event.

_You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh. . ._ Before it can go on too long, Stan answers. “Stanley Uris here. Who is this?”

“Stan! Glad I finally caught you, it’s Mike.”

Still, Stan is looking at the extinct birds wondering what it was like for the Marthas when they lived. “I’m sorry, but Mike who?”

“Mike Hanlon.”

Chances are, Stan’s day would’ve been better if he didn’t answer the phone. He looks down the long off-white hall. Not a sound but the low bumbling sounds of temperature control. Patty’s going to be leaving. She’ll be on her way out with everybody else in ornithology to head out to the bar. If only he left when she left. He should be with them to arrive at the bar and drink and chat and joke about something. Sitting next to Patty while they end up chatting about something too deep for hours not realizing the rest of the world is getting up to leave.

“I’m sorry, but. . .why are you calling me?” 

Stan slides the passenger pigeons and other birds back into their mausoleum. He closes the cabinet altogether and is alone in the long flavorless hall. The subtle scent of alcohol itches his nose from all the weird things in jars from another room. Everything about this whole place is flammable from the paleobond holding the fossils together to the formaldehyde or alcohol preserving other specimens. He’s standing right there, his whole life going up into flames. He can feel it, feel it burning all around him. Mike didn’t even need to say his last name, he knew it at the 207 area code.

“It’s back, Stan.”

“I get that, but why are you calling _me_?” Pain sparks up in his palm, he looks at it, a scar slices across it while he uses his other hand to hang tight to the phone. Bird-shaped scissors cutting into his skin, ones he snatched up inside a burning building where Adelaide, the good woman of the woods who turned out to not be so good after all. “Mike. . .there’s just, there’s just nothing I can do. I don’t know what you think I could do or any of us.”

“You need to come back to Derry. I already spoke to Richie, Bev, and Bill. They’re all coming. I still need to call Ben and Eddie.”

_Eddie._ For some reason the name leaps out to him, he can almost make out the kids face drifting through his memory, his arm all broken as he does his best to get another kid out from the burning building. Flames coming closer. Whoever the other kid was-was. . .Richie. While Bev flies around clear in his mind, a blue bird who once was a redhead girl.

“Sorry, I can’t, Mike. I can’t. There’s-There’s a lot of work I need to do here.”

“You need to come back to Derry. You made a promise, we all made a promise.”

Stan almost loses touch with his phone with images striking his mind of Richie puking up bloody leaves that had been growing inside of him.

“Mike. . .but. . .I can’t. I’m sorry. _Mike_ , we were just kids.” He hangs up on Mike staring down the off-white hallway wishing Patty were back but she’s gone. Pain continues to spark in his palm. The scar is still there. And all over again his phone starts to ring, he let’s it sing.

_You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh, the fundamental things apply, as time goes by._

Stan answers his phone. “Please don’t call this number again.”

“Stan?” It’s Patty. “Hey? Are you ok?”

_No._ “Yes,” Stan whispers. _Nothing is ok._ “I’m fine.”

“That’s not what people say when they’re actually ok. What’s wrong?” Maybe she hears it in his voice, something trembling deep inside of him.

It’s not like Stan can admit the truth. A whole truth he forgot about from a time he woke up unable to remember whether or not he always lived in a house. A house full of birds who watched his every step. Every one of them familiar and every one of them a stranger.

“No, no.” Stan pauses. “I mean, no as in I’m not ok. There was-There was an accident, Patty.”

“Where are you? I’m coming to you.”

Stan looks down both sides of the hall, there’s never-ending cabinets full of bodies. Bright and colorful bodies of birds long dead. A weird sort of graveyard clinging tight to him. It’d all burn so much easier than the house in the woods where Adelaide lived. He made it out of there alive. He made it out of that other house alive. He made it out of the Unknown alive. But feels so dead, he’s hanging there barely able to balance himself. Patty’s voice is buzzing on the phone. Some people are probably asking her what’s up.

“No, don’t,” Stan speaks up. Glad his voice is clear. “I’m actually on my way home.” It’s impossible to tell of Patty’s speaking again. He can’t make sense of her at least. There’s too much roaring and twirling through his mind. “Patty. . .can you cover for me for a bit?”

“. . .Ok. But Stan. . .”

“No, no, just stop. I need you to cover for me, at least a week. I need to-I need to go back to Maine for my family. Sorry. Patty. I-I gotta go.”

“Yeah, yeah. . .” Patty trails away on the phone. “Just Stan?”

“What?”

“Be careful, please.”

Except he hangs up without saying bye to her or _I will_. He continues to stand looking at all the emptiness around him. One more time, he opens up the cabinet and drawer. He takes a picture of the Marthas, the passenger pigeons lying among the dead. He looks at how it came out before closing it again. He leans his back into the wall, sinking to the ground. 

Maine is far.

Stan though stares at the off-white cabinets in front of him, alcohol still itching his nose and temperature control is still humming. He looks down at his phone again. Mike said he needs him to come back, but he just-he just can’t. And yet, he decides a train will be easiest. Maine is far, but it’s not that far away. Train will take a tad bit longer but airport security is a frustration he’d rather ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I can't let Stan die. Also, he deserves to be an ornithologist and not an accountant. I decided that because I love birds, too.


	5. V. Ben Hanscom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben is acting weird.

# V.

Ben Hanscom looks like he’s about to die. Anybody can see it on his face, the way he slumps into the bar looking ready to pass into the Unknown. One of the waiters tugs at the sleeve of the bartender. She leans a little closer about to say something but it looks like Ben is about to take a face dive into the counter. When he doesn’t, she’s free to speak.

“Don’t you think you should. . .cut him off?” she asks the bartender.

“Maybe,” he replies.

“What’s his problem?”

The bartender shrugs as he grabs onto a glass about to fill it with some water although Ben could use more than water to start sobering up. Maybe a sports drink or two. Some salt to make sure he holds everything in and potassium or whatever people say it is these days. “I don’t know but have you ever heard anybody say _You bet your fern_ before?”

The waiter shakes her head. “I think maybe on some miniseries but not real life?”

Ben sits up, he looks up at the speakers above them. _Careless Whispers_ by George Michael plays. He stares at the ceiling like he can hear the words falling from each one of the speakers. The bartender walks over to Ben putting a pint of water down in front of him.

“You a fan of Wham?” he asks.

Ben smiles. “This is just George Michel, but also yes.” He continues to stare up at the ceiling like he really can see each of the words. Whether he can see them or not, he sure can feel them. _Ignorance is kind, There’s no comfort in the truth, Pain is all you’ll find_. At least Ben looks to the bartender again. “One time I played this on the bassoon, forgot all about it until a friend called me earlier tonight.”

The bartender stands there chuckling about this. “I don’t know what a bassoon even is.”

“Big woodwind instrument.” Ben attempts to use his hands to draw it in the air, but it’s not making sense to him or the bartender. It’s for the best because the rest of the story feels so far away and unexplainable. Where frogs listened to him play while he fell in love with an actual bird. _Bev_. For some reason, he thought of her, a girl turned into a bird and back again that he knew once upon a time. He answered the phone and Mike Hanlon told him he needed to come back that _Bev_ , too, is going to come back. “Don’t-Don’t worry about it.” Ben staggers out of his seat, phone in hand. “I’m going to close out.”

“Um, don’t worry about it. I think you should maybe stay here a bit longer though.”

“No, can’t.” Ben orders an Uber. He looks back up at the bartender chugging some of the water left out for him. “Got a plane to catch.”

“I think you’re a little too drunk for a plane,” protests the bartender.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back, if I can survive this.” Ben smiles and without a better comment, he turns to leave but pauses listening again. It’s like the past is talking to him. A past he forgot all about and had no idea he forgot his own childhood.

 _We could have been so good together, We could have lived this dance forever_.

Ben heads out, the Uber is already out waiting for him and he doesn’t have much of a choice. It’s back. So he’s going back to Derry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I like super suck at writing Ben and this is short because of that reason. He's so hard to capture. He's a nice person and I'm like a jerk who really just wants to write about Eddie.


	6. VI. Eddie Kaspbrak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie gets a call and needs to make a big decision.

# VI.

_Just go home, demand a divorce, pack up, leave._

It doesn’t seem so hard but Eddie tells himself this just about every single day whenever the hour is late. People did it all the time. Leave their spouses that is. It could even happen to him. His foot rests a little too hard on the gas pedal as his car hurtles forward with panicking thoughts bouncing around his brain. The thought of saying any of this to Myra, she’d cry, it’d break her heart, she’d die or she’d kill himself with a letter left behind blaming him for his death then the cops would show up wherever he went and there’s nowhere else in the world for him to go.

_Just go home, demand a divorce, pack up, leave._ His phone goes off, he accepts the call by smashing a button on the steering wheel letting Bluetooth takeover. “Ed Kaspbrak here, but I’m a little busy right now.”

“Eddie?”

Weird because he’s sure he said _Ed_. Something about _Eddie_ triggers a painful twinge in his heart. Myra screams Eddie after him a lot, but it’s not even her he hears but instead, somebody chuckling as they call him _Eddie Spaghetti_. Myra is anti-gluten for no good reason at all.

“Who is this?” Eddie replies, still driving too fast for city streets. He spots some people leaping out of the way in a crosswalk.

“It’s Mike. Mike Han. . .”

A light already turns red but Eddie flies forward, his foot growing heavier on the gas pedal. It’s an accident leading into a whole other accident. Again he hears a crack of _Eddie Spaghetti_ and _Eds_ right before some other car t-bones his. It spirals a bit and over the speaker, he can still hear Mike shouting to him. Eddie leans back away from airbags that have deployed. Power from them itch his throat and his lungs. Somewhere in the back waits his inhaler.

“Eddie? Eddie? Are you-Are you ok?”

But Eddie sits there looking at the crumpled metal around him, pieces of glass falling in on him. Whoever is in the other car gets out gawking at him. They’re yelling something but Eddie answers Mike. “Yeah, I’m fine but make it quick. I’m a little busy right now.”

“Eddie, It’s back. We need you, we need you back here in Derry.”

That’s a whole lot and a whole lot Eddie doesn’t need to hear. He hangs up still looking at the other car trying to change the cycle in his mind but all he can hear is the last part. Sounds like he needs to pack up and leave, he needs to pack up and leave, he really needs to pack up and leave.

###

“What do you mean LEAVING?!”

Eddie ignores all the stinging wounds of his crash. The car is gone so somebody else waits around to drive him to the airport. At some point, he stowed his suitcase somewhere easy to grab and so he easily grabs it off the top of their makeshift closet. It’s huge, almost knocking him off-balanced but doesn’t matter. Eddie manages to hoist it up and off and onto the bed before popping it open.

Myra comes into the room. “EEEDIE!”

When he looks up he half expects to see his mom there with her glasses that magnified her eyes, making them look a lot larger than they should. She sounded so much like Sonia for a moment. It’s as if he’s seeing double. Myra and Sonia waiting together, about to ridicule him, warn him of all the dangers in the world. Life is getting harder out there. Climate change is resulting in an increase of zoonotic diseases and antibiotic-resistant infections are on the rise as well. Anyone of them could strike him down.

_Just go home, demand a divorce, pack up, leave._

“Myra, it’s an emergency! I’m sorry I have to go!”

“But then tell me what’s going on?! Eddie?! What’s happening?”

_Just go home, demand a divorce, pack up, leave._

Eddie throws his stuff into the suitcase. He does it so fast, he doesn’t fold anything. Maybe there’s enough space to squeeze in everything. A few times he looks up at Myra, she blocks his path by waiting in the doorway. Rather than face her down, he tosses more clothes into the suitcase knowing all his meds are in the next room but he can probably shove past her.

Myra whispers, “Eddie.”

“Myra, I’m sorry!” Eddie hesitates moving closer to her. “I have to go.” And he manages to slip past her as she’s in the doorway still. _Just go home, demand a divorce, pack up, and leave._ Already he’s off in the bathroom just grabbing every pill bottle whether it’s his or Myra’s. He takes it all with some of his other stuff and is back in the bedroom throwing it in the suitcase and he needs to lean his weight into it to zip it up, get it all closed so he can leave.

_Just go home, demand a divorce, pack up, leave._

“But when are you going to come back? Eddie! I need you here! You can’t leave, Eddie! You can’t leave!”

_Just go home, demand a divorce, pack up, **leave**._

“Myra, I’m sorry!” He almost falls over as he gets the suitcase up and off the bed again. One of the wheels is broken. Doesn’t matter. He needs to get out of there following some distant memory he can’t quite parse out, something he knew was there all along and still couldn’t explain. Myra chases after him. He kicks the door open but it hits him in the face still he goes on. _Just go home, demand a divorce, pack up, and leave._ One more time he yells at her, “I’m sorry! Myra!” He’s falling over the suitcase and making his way to the car waiting for him.

It makes sense chasing after memories you can’t remember, right? There’s a lot of faceless people he recalls. As soon as he reaches the car he stops. He looks in at his friend who is sitting there and waves to him saying something that he can’t really hear.

“Wait. . .I. . .I forgot something.”

“Well, hurry up, Ed, I’m not waiting more than five more minutes.”

“It’s. . .” He’s racing back toward his house. Myra is still by the door screeching for his return but none of her words make sense because he instead has one thing on his mind. Something he also forgot about. A weird token he once found while they unpacked and didn’t know what to do with it so he hid it.

Already as Eddie cuts through the house, Myra follows him. He can make out some of her screaming words. “You-You came back, Eddie! You came back!”

“No, I didn’t!” retorts Eddie.

“But you did! EEEEDIE!” Again Myra keeps on following him, of course, she can’t let this go. “If you leave me, I’ll die! I’ll die, Eddie.”

Just, don’t look back, don’t look back at her. Already he didn’t mean to say what he did to her but he also did mean to say that. He enters the “office,” which was a fancy way to say room for storage space that also has a desk. By the wall waits a fake plant. He moves it revealing a little hole. Eddie kneels down reaching into it hoping a mouse hasn’t moved in to nip at his fingertips. He grabs what he wants, an ancient relic. He pulls out an old cassette player with some busted headphones. “There you are. . .”

“What is that?” Myra interrupts.

Eddie ignores her. He pops it open to see the same tape waiting on the inside. Some words in marker are worn away from over the years. It better still work. Please let it work. He looks at the cassette tape as the world fades away around him like he’s sitting out in the woods where it’s all quiet. Where leaves and plants creep toward him. Whoever wrote on the tape originally wrote _For you_ only to cross out the _you_ and replaced it with _Eds_ but the _s_ is crossed out so instead it says _Eddie_.

_For Eddie_.

Eddie stands up staring at it. To think, he really is hanging onto this treasure, letting it lie in the palm of his hands. It’d take an archeologist or two to decipher what this once meant. From another time, another life, a memory he can’t remember yet he’s so close to figuring out. It’s like some missing puzzle piece is hanging out there with him, the final piece that brings it all together.

Myra still stands in the doorway of the “office” staring at him. Eddie makes eye contact with her. “I want a divorce,” he admits the ultimate truth.

“What?” yelps Myra. “Eddie? You’re scaring me. You can’t do that!”

“But really, I want a divorce. I’m sorry! Sorry, Myra! I-I have to go.” 

And fuck asthma, too, because he darts out of there holding tight to his weird treasure. The car still waits out front. His suitcase is in the car letting him plop right in. He pulls out some other headsets from his suitcase, it waits in the back, they’re ones that can work, usually for airplanes.

“Are you going to just ignore me the whole time?” his friend asks.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s important.” Eddie plugs them in and hits play. For a second, he thinks nothing is going to work. But everything is already in motion, cassette tape is whirring already while his friend drives on towards the airport. It’s back to Derry with all his life packed up. Either way, he’s not coming back. Dead or alive. 

The music sounds all crumpled when it starts up and distant, a hazy autumn memory of lying around in other kids’ basements. _Walking back to you is the hardest thing that I can do, that I can do for you._ For a change, he relaxes to each note and closes his eyes in his best attempt to remember.

But when no memory surfaces, Eddie sends a text under a newly saved number. **Mike (From Fucking Derry)**. All he sends is a quick, _On my way_.

###

It’s as if the next time Eddie opens his eyes, he’s arrived. None of the space and time ever existed. He’s in the back of some other car looking out while checking his phone to make sure it’s the right place. Text says, Jade of the Orient. He looks up and sees the sign out front says, Jade of the Orient. So this is it. Eddie lets headphones hang around his neck as he pays the cab drivers and climbs out onto the curb with his big ass suitcase. It again almost knocks him off balance but he catches it. 

“I’m going to puke,” Eddie announces out loud bothering some woman standing close to him. She sneers at him. “What? It’s a very normal. . .” 

His stomach lurches and he might, he might actually puke up all his stress and anxiety. It’s been boiling inside of him for some time and now it’s about to overflow. Eddie leans overlooking into a sewage grate, he comes pretty close to puking there. His knees hit the ground and he chokes on nothing. Fine. Good. No vomit is good vomit. If you can call it _vomit_ is it’s not vomit.

When he looks up, the woman is gone but instead somebody else is standing there. They have a nice dress shirt on. At first Eddie’s sure there are stripes or maybe arrows all across it but at a closer look, he makes out little birds all along the shirt. Whoever the person is just standing around staring at Eddie and Eddie hangs tight to his bag, more for support than anything.

_I know you!_ Eddie comes so close to saying.

They point at Eddie and say, “Eddie.”

Eddie stares.

They point at themself and smiles. “It’s Stan.”

“Stan! Of course!” Eddie points at himself about to reintroduce himself but Stan made it clear he knows. “I remember you, but not really.” He looks again at all those little birds on his shirt. “You-You are into. . .zoos, right?!”

Stan smiles, looking rather sad about the situation as a whole. “Birds, but I don’t really remember either.” He looks at the restaurant with Eddie looking with him. Neither of them move. Instead, he looks at the suitcase. “What? Are you planning on moving back?”

“No, no.” Eddie snaps his attention down, looking at his suitcase before he looks at Stan. “No, no, I just brought. . .” Again he looks at the suitcase all over again and back at Stan. “My dog died and I brought my dead dog to bury in one of those Pet Semeteries I hear about in Maine all the time.” Rather than let that conversation begin again, he starts walking into the restaurant alongside Stan. 

The _For Eddie_ cassette tape weighs him down a bit, but they don’t got far to go because thankfully right inside sits Mike. Eddie almost trips as he looks at Mike, all grown up. Somehow he forgot all about Mike and Stan and. . .whoever else is invited tonight. Headphones continue to hang around his neck with his cassette player hanging out in his back pocket with _For Eddie_ ready to play all over again.

“Stan! Eddie! You made it!” Mike leaps out of his seat. He directs their attention towards a private room in the back. “That’s-That’s us. I called ahead.”

“Thanks,” mutters Eddie.

Stan just nods. 

The two make their way into the back room finding a single other person there. Eddie loses his suitcase, it plops to the ground with a loud crack meaning everybody is there staring at him. Both Eddie and the other person stare at each other as he stands up awkwardly waving. For somebody being in a car crash earlier in the day, this hurts worse. Their name collides straight into his heart, knocking it offbeat. His chest grows tight and his inhaler is hanging out in his suitcase. That’s something he’s going to be in. Eddie touches the cassette tape hanging out in his pocket.

“Bill!” chimes Stan, he smiles at Bill still looking like the saddest person in the world.

“Stan! E-E-Eddie!” Bill comes a little closer.

Eddie looks at Bill feeling all off, he might vomit for real this time again because fuck those memories coming back. It’s not like some missing piece in a puzzle. He got the directions all wrong, needs to tear everything apart, put it back together, figure it out again. All of it, he got all of it wrong, which in hindsight might’ve made sense. Eddie lived a life feeling like he’s always crawling just outside of his skin without a better explanation to how or why or what. 

Bill’s saying something but Eddie can’t hear him. Anxiety is pumping inside of his head, it’s buzzing and he really should take that inhaler. Some others are going to arrive and that cassette is feeling a lot heavier.

After all, there’s the _you_ crossed out and replaced by _Eddie_ and this-this is all his fault.

It’s not the real reason why they’re here. Everybody’s back because of Eddie being some shithead back into the day and he can barely remember any of it.


	7. VII. Losers Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Reunion of sorts.

# VII.

Bev’s been staring at the doors to the restaurant for about three songs worth of time. A whiny 90’s love ballad plays as if they’re the hits of today not making the so called ‘Jade of the Orient’ Mike has them waiting at. She keeps her hands in her pockets, there’s enough of a chill to make her want something a little heavier. 

“Is there some sort of secret password?” somebody says behind her.

It’s a little after the average dinnertime, the sun is down but street lights take care of that issue. Bev turns around to find somebody walking up from the parking lot. He smiles at her. She checks to make sure she’s not directly in the way of anybody trying to get inside.

“What? Oh. No. Sorry.” Bev still moves aside to let him pass.

He doesn’t. Gross.

Bev digs her hands a little deeper into her pockets. There’s something about dirt that sure sounds tasty right about now rather than Chinese food, which is pretty messed up. Xiao long bao is by far the better choice in any situation.

The man in front of her still smiles, he points at himself and says, “Oh! It’s Ben.”

“Um, hi?” Bev looks around to see if Richie’s coming back yet. Figures he’d be gone for too long promising to bring back cigarettes. To think, she really believed she gave up smoking. “I’m. . .Sam Baker.” She doesn’t shake his hand. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend. He’s on his way.”

“Boyfriend?” He loses his smile. Figures. Bev pretends to keep up her smile. “Well, that’s good to hear. I’m not so lucky.”

“Yeah, ok, bye.”

He doesn’t leave but chuckles. “No, it’s _Ben_ , you know Ben, Ben Hanscom, loves New Kids on the Block and thought he could teach forest animals things.”

It takes a beat or two for this all to click in place. Bev gasps as she comes so close to shouting about her sudden recollection. At a normal volume, she manages a “Ben!” She goes in for a friendly hug but pauses until Ben hugs her first so she hugs him back. Bev steps back. “Wow, Ben. . .you just-you just look so different, I’m sorry.”

“No problem, I mean, I just remembered we knew each other. But can we talk about Sam Baker? Really? You couldn’t come up with a better fake name?”

Bev shrugs. “I don’t know, sometimes I go with Andie Walsh or Claire Standish.”

“I don’t know who you’re more like, maybe Sam or Andie, not Claire.”

“How would you know? I don’t remember seeing you around during Saturday detentions.” Her fingers are really itching for a cigarette. Happened the moment they landed in Derry like something in the air insisted she needed nicotine. It’d be the only way to fight off the fear bristling in her stomach and heart. Bev manages to keep a smile up. “Wow, I can’t-I can’t believe you’re really here.”

“Yeah. . .” Other than the hug, Ben hasn’t moved at all. He’s still in the parking lot with Bev standing up on the sidewalk. “Well. . .happy birthday.”

“Happy. . .Happy Birthday?”

Ben closes the space between them by stepping up onto the curb. “Yeah, happy birthday or I should say belated birthday. I forgot to say it on your sixteenth birthday.”

“What’s that supposed to be?” Richie interrupts them. He stands almost directly between the two. “Some sort of joke?” He tosses a pack of cigarettes and lighter to Bev, already smoking one. “Hope you don’t mind, I already bummed one.”

“No problem.” Bev almost missed catching it because she’s too busy looking at Ben. Her fingers are a little shaky. Not for the nicotine but for being so close to _Ben_. There’s something she wishes she could remember about him, but it’s just beyond her reach leaving behind a taste for cigarettes, dirt, and worms. She lights a cigarette while she keeps up her smile as she looks at Ben.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened to me?” Richie looks from Ben to Bev before he drops the cigarette butt and stomps it out. As he does this, he makes direct eye contact with Ben. “Only we can prevent forest fires.”

“We’re in a parking lot. . .” replies Ben.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, man? Cars are flammable!” Richie takes a place beside Bev handing her a receipt. “You should also tip me since I delivered them.”

“Wait, Richie is your. . .” _boyfriend_ is the word Ben leaves out as he stares at how close Richie stands. His elbow almost touching Bev’s and he tossed those things to her. 

“Yes,” Richie instantly replies. 

Bev swats at him. “You don’t even know the question.”

“I do, too, and yes, eight inches”

This time Ben cuts in with a nervous laugh hiding on the edge of his voice. “What’s that supposed to be? A joke?”

“No, not at all. Ask Ringwald, she knows.”

Bev shakes her head mouthing the word _no_ hoping Ben will get one, she’s not dating Richie and two, no she hasn’t seen his dick. Thankfully.

But Ben is already changing the conversation, he’s not ready to fall into this ordeal. Instead, his hand flutters a bit as he signals to the door. “Should we-Should we go inside?”

“Nah, I think Mike said wait out here until everybody arrives,” says Richie.

“Beep, beep, Richie.” Bev rolls her eyes. She didn’t get a good long chance to smoke but tosses her cigarette anyway. She steps on it looking up at Richie as she does. “Preventing forest fires.”

“I knew I could trust you. You’re a true Planeteer, Bev.”

“The Planeteers?” The nervous edge never leaves Ben. “What?”

“You know! Earth! Water! Fire! Wind! Heart! And then bam, their powers combine creates Captain Planet.”

Ben stares at Richie, jaw slightly ajar like he can’t make up his mind on what to say about _that_. “Alright then.” Instead, Ben takes the lead with Bev and Richie taking up the rear.

Again, Bev swats Richie. “You better behave in there. I’m not getting kicked out of another restaurant because of you.”

“Shut up, Bev, you know that’s never happened.”

“It did, too!”

“That’s because I thought it was open mic night not just a live music night.” Richie turns to face her before they enter. “It’s not my fault I’m a gift from God.”

“Rich, you keep saying that but I don’t think you know what that means.” Bev enters the restaurant first as Richie stands there with a little _what the fuck_ shrug, but he does yell an “Inconceivable” after her.

Mike still waits out front. He jumps up as soon as he sees the three enter the restaurant. Ben spots him right away, but it takes him three seconds to realize who he is. “Glad you could all make it!” Mike shakes Ben’s hand then Bev’s and he goes to shake Richie’s hand who lightly taps his fist to Mike’s palm. It’s enough to get him to pause and look at Richie a second longer before diving back into the much-needed details. “I’ll show you where we’re sitting, I called ahead for us.” 

Lots of people are inside, eating and chatting as they cut towards the back to a private room. The whole time Richie looks around at the disarray of everything decorating the place to give it the best “Chinese Restaurant” look but really it’s just a lot of stuff from a Terracotta Warrior staring at him in one corner and one of those tall camels standing in another corner with all sorts of photographs of China on the walls with food listed in Mandarin and English.

“Was this our favorite place to hang out?” Richie asks, stopping way too close to a table to look at a photograph of an ice festival. It’s simply listed as “Harbin,” which he isn’t sure is the city or province or what.

Mike looks back at him. “No, just built within the past few years. Thought it’d be best for us to go somewhere different, no memories.” He continues on. Ben and Bev are practically in sync with each other. Though Mike does add another comment, “I haven’t ever been here either so if the food isn’t good, it’s not my fault.”

Richie continues to look at the photograph before realizing that the couple there are staring at him. “What?” he replies. “It’s a nice picture. You did great.” He leaves them behind to catch up with the other three. “So you’ve been here the whole time remembering and we just. . .haven’t?” He stalls again looking at another photograph, but this time it’s a classic Great Wall of China picture. To the family there he comments, “Lovely photograph you got there. I’m proud of you.”

Mike already ushered Bev and Ben into the private room with Richie still making his way toward him. He stays outside until Richie is about to walk inside. He’s too distracted by the everything new around him. “I was hoping that’s something we could discuss,” Mike answers.

Richie pauses looking back at Mike drawing a complete blank. He’s always blabbering on not knowing what he’s saying. “Wait? What? Discuss what?” 

“Derry. Memories. The Unknown. What happened to. . .” Mike trails off before adding a _you_ to the sentence. “Come on everybody else is here.”

Richie follows Mike until he spots a gong in the room out of the corner of his eye. It even has a little mallet waiting right by it and how could he not resist grabbing onto something. It’s like every rain stick or symbol or drum he’s found in a store since the age of three. If you put noisemakers out, you’re just asking for noise. Before he realizes what he’s about to do, Richie picks up the mallet and crashes it into the gong before looking out at the table where everybody is chatting. There’s so much handshaking until the gong rings out, all eyes are on Richie. _Perfect_ “This meeting of the Losers Club has officially begun.”

Right as Richie goes to put the mallet back in its spot, he drops it and his elbow strikes the gong all over again. The reason? Heart failure. An actual heart attack because his heart skipped the second Ben moved out of the way and he saw Eddie standing on the other side of the table tapping a chair until Eddie looked at him. Even Eddie froze while the two stared at each other.

Time collapses in on itself. The two stare at each other for some time like they’re strangers about to just walk past each other in the night.

“What the fuck?” Richie shouts. He bends over grabbing the mallet and struggles to put it back in its place. It falls, he hits the gong again and goes for the mallet again all while Eddie stands in the same spot staring at him, eyebrows all scrunched up and he looks as if he’s about to stay frozen forever in a gasp. Once the mallet is back in place, Richie leans into the wall acting all cool like that didn’t happen only to leap forward actually yelling “WHAT THE FUCK, MAN!”

“The fuck you looking at?!” retorts Eddie.

“I think-I think it’s your face! What the fuck happened to you?”

Eddie smirks. The room keeps them separated. A lot of time and space between the two of them. It’s not an easy thing to cross. You don’t just get time back not even when memories start to come back. There were summers spent in an ugly basement with a shag carpet listening to some record player they took from his sister. Playing _Street Fighter_ for enough hours that carpal tunnel syndrome might become an issue. Classes together. Bike rides together. Them sitting in a hospital next to each other not wanting to think _This is the end_ , but that was the end once upon a time. The end of a chapter and the next chapter is about to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so far to anybody who is just joining or is still reading this from the previous series! If you enjoy this, please let me know. If you don't, please forever hold your peace.
> 
> P.S. I'm hoping to keep updating soon but I wanna go back to the drawing board to really figure out the rest of this. Also, this scene was like 15 pages, but I cut it in half so like you'll have to come back for more Reddie. I wanted to give the scene more thought, too.


End file.
